


Playthings

by FreshBrains



Category: The Following
Genre: Community: rounds_of_kink, Flashbacks, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Season/Series 01, Secrets, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe doesn’t want to play with toys, he wants to make <i>art</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playthings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silentflux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentflux/gifts).



> For the LJ Rounds of Kink prompt: _Ryan Hardy/Joe Carroll; Seduction; Seduction was always hard to resist_.
> 
> Takes place before the season one finale. Hints towards infidelity, Ryan's alcoholism, and Debra's abusive past.

“He wants you because you’re the one he can’t have,” Debra says, giving him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. They’re no closer to finding Joey, no closer to giving Claire peace of mind, no closer to getting Mike out of the hospital, no closer to getting Joe Carroll away from the people whose lives he ruined. “He’s like a child who can’t reach the toy on the high shelf.”

Ryan nods, throat dry and itching for a drink, and leans back in his chair. Debra busies herself on the phones at her desk, always hard at work. He understands what she says, and if it were about any other man, Ryan would believe her. But not with Joe. No, he knows exactly why Joe wants him.

Joe doesn’t want to play with toys, he wants to make _art_. He wants to make something of the mangled flesh on Ryan’s chest from his knife wound, wants to paint with his blood, write all over his skin with cuts and bruises. Ryan is his canvas, his journal—not blank, but certainly not finished.

And at one point, Ryan thought he might’ve been happy with being Joe’s work of art.

He’d never admit it, of course. That’s a secret he’d take to his fast-impending grave; he wouldn’t divulge it if they brought out the rack and screws. Not to Mike or Debra, not to Jenny, _certainly_ not to Claire. He’s still stuck deep in the mire of wanting to be the strong one for them, the one with the grim face and the gun, the one who can see past Joe Carroll’s bullshit to the serpent beneath the skin.

But in the end, Joe’s just as human as the rest of them, which is the worst part of it all.

*

They were both younger then, of course. Younger, stronger. More willing to pretend their world was a place that would give them both the benefit of the doubt.

“My wife and I,” Joe said, looking at Ryan with such intensity that Ryan had to avert his eyes to the tabletop full of empties, “we have an arrangement. Have you ever been so dreadfully in love with someone that you know everything about them, every thought that crosses their mind?” He leaned forward in his chair, knee bumping against Ryan’s. “Have you ever been able to anticipate a woman’s needs so precisely that you can make them come just with your eyes?”

Ryan’s not an idiot, and he might’ve been younger but not exactly _young_ , and he just smiled and poured another glass of wine. He could play the game, too. “Some of us have to do it the old-fashioned away, I guess.” He was still stuck on the first part of Joe’s statement— _we have an arrangement_. “What exactly do you and Dr. Carroll come to terms about?”

Joe smiles, something slow and wicked that sends a burn of both fear and arousal down Ryan’s spine. “Sins of the mind and sins of the flesh are both sins, of course, but which do you think brings about more harmful consequences?” He was closer still, the scent of his aftershave and the red wine thick in Ryan’s senses, the dark grain of his stubble clear in the low dining room light.

“It depends,” Ryan said, knowing he had little to contribute to such a debate.

“On?” Joe’s pressed his fingers against Ryan’s wrist, an odd motion, like he was taking Ryan’s pulse. But the pressure and heat of his hand was soothing in a way that made Ryan allow it.

“On who you’re sinning with,” Ryan said, voice coming out huskier than expected.

A look crossed Joe’s face, a hungry look, primal and dark behind his eyes. There was something like pride there, too, but Ryan stopped thinking when Joe leaned in those final few inches and began the one thing Ryan was fucking powerless to stop.

The first move in their dangerous game.

*

“The toy on the shelf,” Ryan mutters, tapping his pen against his desk.

Debra glances up, giving him a half-smile. “Is that so ridiculous? We’re all just dolls to him, Hardy, ready to be posed and played with.”

“And discarded,” Ryan says dryly. He smiles at Debra. “I had a shitty set of Lincoln Logs when I was a kid. They were all I played with until I was eleven.”

Debra snorts. “I had an art set in a little plastic suitcase. Waxy crayons, dry markers. But damn, I loved that thing.” She takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes distant. “That stuff was hard to come by when I was a little girl.”

_An art set_ , Ryan thinks. _I guess toys_ can _be useful, Joe._


End file.
